


Blue-Eyed Monster

by Imagine_Darksiders



Category: Darksiders (Video Games)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Attempted Sexual Assault, Blood and Injury, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Licking, Monster - Freeform, Obsessive Behavior, Sexual Abuse, Teratophilia, horseman - Freeform, monster tongue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 14:52:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16328117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imagine_Darksiders/pseuds/Imagine_Darksiders
Summary: Like the roaring roll of thunder, War lets out a growl as a great and terrible rage fills him up until his skin appears to simmer.Sparks of white-hot fire burst and crackle along his teeth and down his arms and at the apex of a furious inhale – War begins to grow.





	1. The Door.

There would never be an easy way to do this…

War glares resentfully at the flimsy door in front of him, at the little nicks and scratches that mar the white paint around the frame, revealing the splintered wood underneath. Each mark alludes to a time in the past where he’d squeezed through the relatively tiny, human-sized doorway and ended up taking most of the damn thing with him as he shoved and bullied his way inside your apartment.   
He would always spend an inordinate amount of time picking flecks of paint off his broad shoulders and watching you sweep the remnants of your doorframe from the carpet. 

War’s proud, blue eyes narrow to slits, his gauntleted fists clenching and unclenching as he considers the problem. He remembers that, a few days ago,  you’d very casually asked him to **_please_** be more careful whenever he enters and exits your home. Had it been anybody else, War would have laughed brazenly in their face and done as he pleased. 

But you are not ‘anybody else.’ You are his friend. One of the few - if not the  _only_  - friend he has. And, at some, undetermined point in your journey together, you’d unwittingly found yourself promoted from War’s tiny ally to his tiny charge, and if his charge’s only request was that he not scuff his armour against the sides of the door, then he’s willing to comply. A courtesy he saves only for you. 

Strife had accused him of going soft when he first witnessed War interacting with you. The youngest horseman showed his brother just how soft he’d become…by introducing the full force of the Tremor Gauntlet to Strife’s helmetless head.   
It’s been several weeks since then and that bruise  _still_  hasn’t completely faded.

Deciding that he’s stared down your door long enough, War rolls his mighty shoulders, the pauldrons clanking noisily, and reaches out with two fingers to delicately grasp your flimsy, brass doorknob……

And promptly freezes in place, his eyes going wide and ears straining to hear through the thin wood. 

There’s a voice. Nothing exceptionally unusual about that - except, it isn’t  _your_  voice. War’s fingers tighten of their own accord, inadvertently pressing dents into the metal knob. This goes ignored though, the horseman too preoccupied with the new voice. 

It sounds male..No, there are  _two_  males speaking now. And two females. To his disquiet, he can’t pick out your voice amongst the dim, muffled chatter. 

Now, War has always been a strategist. Pragmatic to a fault, he is  _not_  prone to random surges of alarm or worry. And as a tactician of the battlefield, his mind reflexively speeds through every possible scenario that could be occurring in your kitchen right now, each becoming progressively more disturbing than the last.  

You’ve moved out and these strangers are your familiar apartment’s new residents. 

They’re burglars who waited until you left for a few hours before they started ransacking your home….

..Or maybe they had a more….malicious intent. War’s heart lurches at the thought and he bares his teeth unconsciously. What if they’re kidnappers? You could be sitting there, helplessly bound to a chair with a filthy rag stuffed into your mouth so you couldn’t call for help!

The beast that forever lurks dormant between War’s ribs, suddenly growls, the sound rumbling out of his throat between clenched teeth like rolling thunder. 

He dwells on the last thought, caught in its swell, drowning under the gruelling, haunting images it pushes insistently against his mind’s walls. He won’t wait any longer, not while your safety is compromised. 

Throwing aside any previous hesitancy about damaging your door, War lowers his head, lifts up one leg and throws it forwards in a kick so powerful, it’d make Ruin proud.

The door buckles under the force of a titanic horseman’s murderous rage and shatters into mere splinters as he shoulders his way through the low frame, amour screeching in protest when it’s dragged against your walls. A cacophony of screams greets him on the other side, along with shouting and a voice - a blessedly  _familiar_  voice - exclaiming, “War!?” at the same time as a man screeches, “What the  _fuck_!?”

Tugging himself into the apartment fully, War stands to his full, impressive height and hurriedly takes stock of the room, eyes flashing dangerously. 

To the right is your little kitchenette - kettle, stove and all the familiar things that War’s become accustomed to seeing are still in their respective places. That’s good. On his left, the living area, adorned with a large, well-worn sofa and matching armchair that frame a modest coffee table, beyond which sits your television.  _It’s still there too. Again, good. Strife and Fury will be pleased._

There are also at least five humans here. His attention flits from two wide-eyed girls squashed together at the far end of the sofa, to one of the males, who’s frozen halfway between sitting and standing in front of  **your**  chair. War’s eyes then snap to the ground where the remaining male sits, cowering behind the coffee table and next to  _him_ , the horseman’s main target. 

“War!” you repeat, leaping up off the floor and throwing your arms out in front of your friends, “What the Hell do you think you’re doing!?” 

Gradually, like steam seeping out of a pressure valve, War loosens his grip on Chaoseater’s hilt and lowers a vibrating Tremor Gauntlet, shoving down the weapon’s carnal lust to crack a few skulls and willing his own thundering heartbeat to still. Eyes of impossible blue meet yours and instantly, the tension behind them dissipates. 

In a blink, he’s storming across the room towards you and stuffing his sword into place on his back. The other humans scatter backwards, some even hop over the sofa in a bid to get away from the danger but you bravely stand your ground, jutting out your chin and balling your hands into fists, glaring up at him with a mixture of exasperation and defiance. War dully notes that he’ll have to commend your bravery later. Most would have backed down under the approach of a charging nephilim. 

He easily shoves the coffee table aside using the back of his knuckles before, jarring to a halt in front of you and bringing his large hands up to hover protectively at your sides. There are no ropes around your wrists or ankles, no gag, no marks that indicate injury….

Movement snatches his attention and he whips his head down to the boy on the ground who raises his hands in the air, acting on bare instinct. “H-hey! Cool it, man! Just chill!!” 

War sneers down at him distastefully. In a threatening growl, he gruffly demands, “Who  _are_  you,” sweeping his burning gaze over each of their faces. 

With a hefty sigh, you push one of his hands down and rub at the skin beneath your eyebrow. “It’s okay, guys. You were bound to meet him sooner or later. This is War - and I know it’s hard to believe, but I promise, he isn’t going to hurt us.” 

Nobody - the glowering horseman included - looks convinced. 

“ ** _Are_**  you, War?” you snap, jerking your head at the people behind you, “These are my friends. From before the apocalypse.” 

Chest heaving, War surveys the group of unfamiliar humans, finally registering that they’re all staring at him, petrified. Which wouldn’t be a first, but frightening humans who look to be around your age is nothing to be proud of. Drawing himself up, he flares his nostrils once in an exhale and swivels his hooded face to fix you with a stern glare. “You didn’t tell me they were coming,” he mutters. 

Your eyelids flutter incredulously. “Er.. I don’t have to tell you every time my friends come round. Besides!  _You_  didn’t say  _you_  were coming either! A-and why does that mean you should break down my door and scare everyone to death!?” Gesturing at what’s left of it, you whine, “It took me ages to repaint that after  _last_  time.”

Around you, your friends slowly begin to move towards you and War, their fear dissipating, overridden by natural human curiosity. The boy on the ground staggers to his feet, grabbing the hem of your pyjama top to steady himself, although he immediately snatches his hand back at the sight of the red behemoth’s curled lip that shows off a pair of gleaming fangs. “Holy shit…You weren’t kidding,” one of your other friends - Jessica - whispers, sidling up to your shoulder, “he’s  _huge_!” One after the other, the small group of humans venture closer to War. He stiffens at their approach, his instinctive neural responses warning him that he’s being surrounded. Covering his massive, metal-clad chest with both arms, the horseman watches them warily whilst they gather around him and shoot questions at you, rapid-fire. 

“What is he doing  _here_!?” 

“Does he always come through doors like that?”

“He looks like he wants to  _eat_  us!” 

“Isn’t he a horseman? Where’s his horse?”

Groaning, you run your hands down your face and snatch the remote control up off the table, pausing the film you’d all been in the process of watching. It isn’t that you don’t want War here. Normally, you’re delighted anytime one of your strange, otherworldly friends comes to visit. But tonight was supposed to be a night for you and your human friends. This is the first time you’d all managed to get together since the resurrection of your species and you had a lot of catching up to do. 

You’d  _missed_  them, immensely. Surely it isn’t  _that_  selfish of you to want a little time just being an ordinary  _human_  again. Hanging out with your friends, watching some terrible horror movies and eating as much junk food as you can handle sounds like a godsend after living rough on the demon-infested Earth with only a ferocious horseman of the apocalypse for company, surviving on energy bars and boiled water. 

Tom - a boy you’d only  _really_  been friends with because he lived in your area - is bold enough to grab your arm and hiss in your ear, “So, uh..What happens now?” 

War’s frown deepens at the sight of Tom’s hand on your skin.

“Now…” You puff out your cheeks. “I…guess I introduce everyone?”

War, for his part, couldn’t really care less who any of these humans are. Truthfully, he’s still on edge, wound up from the anticipation of a fight. What matters most is that you’re not in any immediate danger, so he supposes he can allow this customary introduction…for now, though he still doesn’t like how  _intimately_  that other human is touching you. 

The horseman’s brow furrows in response to an odd sensation swimming around in his belly and, out of the blue, all he wants to do is rip that hand off your arm. If he didn’t know any better, he’d liken it to jealousy. But that’s impossible. He is  _War_. Jealousy isn’t his jurisdiction, it’s more Strife’s. 

Setting his jaw and squashing the ugly feeling down into the very soles of his boots, War listens disinterestedly as you point at each friend respectively, telling him their names. 

“This is Jess.” A girl with dark hair, a friendly but timid face and a pair of thick, round glasses averts her gaze, swallowing thickly. For your sake, the horseman grunts, acknowledging the shy human. 

“And uh… this is Beatrice. Say hi, Bea.” You indicate the woman clutching a pillow to her chest. She appraises War suspiciously, offering a quick, “Hullo,” and a hesitant nod. Satisfied with that, you turn to the boy next to her. “Here, we’ve got Jack…” 

The human; a slight, weedy little thing that’s at least a few inches shorter than everyone else in the room ducks behind ‘Bea’ when War tilts his head towards him. “ _Hey_ ,” he wheezes, glancing uncertainly at you. At last, you lift your elbow - the one Tom is still clinging to - and jerk your thumb back at him.   
“And this is -” 

“Tom,” the remaining human interrupts, matching War’s scowl as best he can and edging in front of you minutely, “You usually go around kicking in people’s doors, huh big man?”

“Tom,” you urge him back quietly, all too aware of the subtle challenge he’d just issued a  _horseman_. What Tom forgets is that War is  _not_  human and he reacts to challenges like a bull to a red rag. As you expected, the horseman’s eyes harden and you can hear his leather straps creaking under the strain of his flexing muscles. 

Desperate to placate the horseman and keep your friends reassured, you step right out of Tom’s grasp and move to stand next to War, failing to see the look of surprise flicker across his shadowed face. “Listen, this is… _unexpected_ , sure.” You shoot War an extremely pointed glare. “I mean, I’m gonna have to rebuild the door. But it’s done now, so. Let’s just get back to watching the movie, yeah?” The others shift on their feet and nod uncertainly, slowly sinking into their previous positions - all but Tom. 

“Will uh… _he_  be joining us?” he asks, roving his eyes up and down the horseman a few times, no doubt sizing him up. 

Skeptical, yet hopeful, you cock your head at War and admit, “I don’t know. War, would you like to watch TV with us?”

Watching your eyes light up with a smile, War almost feels bad for roughly growling, “No.” 

Your four friends flinch at the animosity he’s packed behind the small word. You however, just shrug and roll your eyes. “Fine. Suit yourself, stand there all night if you like. But  _we’re_  watching a movie.” With that, you leave him to go and plonk yourself down on the sofa, sandwiching yourself between Jack and Jess. Tom follows suit, though when he reaches the sofa, instead of sitting on the end, he stares with raised eyebrows at Jack, who holds his gaze for a few moments before sliding up, away from you. 

Anger rears its head as War sees the uncomfortable way your lip pulls to the side at Tom’s action, a clear indication of your displeasure. So when the boy falls into the sofa and goes to toss his arm casually over your back, you immediately shrug it off and fix one of your withering stares on him.  _There’s_  that billowing swell of pride filling up War’s chest. 

For a time, he does exactly as you’d suggested. He stands in place for a good chunk of the movie, taking nothing in because he’s too busy glaring daggers at the side of Tom’s head. He’d made up his mind. The other humans are…tolerable at the very least. They seem harmless enough.   
But  _this_  one…Something about him feels….off. He’s like so many young Nephilim that War can remember, and  _like_  those young Nephilim, he’s aggressive. Confrontational. Cocky. Doesn’t know when to back down from a fight.  _Why_  you’ve placed any value on your friendship with Tom, War will never know. 

Another half an hour later and everything goes to pot. 

Tom, making sure to catch War’s eye, stretches loudly, yawning with his mouth obscenely agape and then, to the horseman’s outrage, he lowers his hand down your back, snaking it around your ribcage and brushing his fingertips over the soft skin of your stomach. War sees your face, sees the way your eyes widen, livid. He registers the soft flash of your throat as you swallow down an angry lump. You open your mouth to tell Tom to get off, but before you get a word out, he’s suddenly yanked from his seat at your side.

War had cleared the room in three strides and taken a hold of Tom’s forearm, drowning it in his enormous gauntlet. He squeezes the human’s flimsy wrist, teeth gnashing and eyes blazing wildly, not enough to cause a break but  _definitely_  enough to hurt him. 

In an instant, you’re on your feet as well and once again trying to stop a fight from breaking out.“War! Stop it! Put him down!” As you speak, the others all rise as well, looking at each other, unsure of how to help.

War ignores you, lifting Tom off the ground and snarling in his - now rather pale - face. “You will not touch Y/n,” he seethes. Something latches onto his arm and he snaps his gaze down to see you tugging on the heavy limb insistently. “Let him  _go_ , War.” 

“He touched you. You didn’t want him to,” he says, as though you had no idea. 

Looking back at your other friends, you lower your voice to a hoarse whisper, wincing when Tom begins to thump the horseman’s hand in an attempt to free himself. “He’s just being an idiot. You think I can’t handle that? I’ve been handling stuff like that a lot longer than  _you_  have.” 

Apparently, War doesn’t quite grasp the subtle concept of whispering. The human dangling from his grasp lets out a shrill yelp when the hand twitches and the pressure around his arm increases. “This human has touched you before?” he all but bellows, “ _Where_?” 

Heat rushes into your cheeks. “War, please,” you hiss back, “you’re embarrassing me! Just put Tom down and  _go_! I want to have a nice, quiet evening with my friends.”

“You are  _my_  friend,” he rumbles, jostling Tom with a shake of his fist, “ _Mine_.” 

As annoying and pushy as your old neighbour can be, you have no desire to reset a broken arm tonight. Furiously, you land a vicious slap to War’s gauntlet, tears springing to your eyes from the pain of hitting metal. “If you don’t let him go right now, I  _won’t_  be!”

Silence, broken only by the film credits now rolling in the background, descends upon the room. You stand there, heaving and panting as the horseman stares down at you, searching your face for a hidden lie. You hadn’t meant that. Surely? 

A few more seconds pass by before War finally opens his hand and drops Tom unceremoniously to the floor. You don’t move to help him up. 

“…Maybe we should _all_  just go,” Jack suggests after the room feels as though it’s been still for far too long, earning a few murmurs of agreement from the others. 

Turning away from War, your eyes grow round and you plead, “No, wait, it’s okay! I - he’s not gonna -”

“Y/n,” Jess whispers, fearfully eyeing the giant man, “You know we love you, but this guy is bad news! I - I already died once..” She trails off, looking at you with remorse and shaking her head. Then, without taking her eyes off the horseman, she bends down and snatches up her phone and bag, fleeing out of the door while you can only watch on helplessly. 

Beatrice gathers her own things off the floor. Slinging her sleeping bag over a shoulder, she smiles at you, though it looks more like a grimace in this light. “Sorry, Y/n. Talk soon.” And with that, she too has gone. 

Meanwhile, Jack has managed to lift Tom off the floor and he’s thrown the other boy’s good arm over his shoulders. “M’gonna take Tom home,” he breathes, voice trembling. Your shoulders slump as you watch him shuffle out of the destroyed doorway, dragging the moaning boy along beside him. 

Once more, the apartment is plunged into uncomfortable silence. It feels so much emptier, even with the hulking juggernaut of a horseman taking up ample space. War regards you softly for a while, relishing the steady rise and fall of your chest and the sound of your quiet little breaths. Suddenly, you suck in a deep lungful of air and hold it, ceasing all movement as you turn a hurt and rightfully livid look onto the horseman. 

Sighing, War takes a step forward, reaching out a hand. “Y/n-” 

You don’t give him the opportunity to finish. Instead, you jab a finger in the direction of your broken, apartment door and utter two, dangerously quiet words. “ _Get. Out_.” 

Then, spinning on your heel, you march over to your bedroom at the other end of the apartment and throw the door open, disappearing inside. Despite his battle prowess, War still flinches at the power with which you slam that door shut again. 

War takes one look at the unprotected entrance to your home and recalls the missives that Azrael had sent out, of demons still rumoured to stalk the sewers below your city. He  _doesn’t_  leave, of course, choosing to remain on guard in your apartment until the early hours of the morning, only standing down and traipsing reluctantly out of the building when he heard the first stirrings coming from your bedroom.

—

Unfortunately, that wouldn’t be the last time War felt the stinging buck of jealousy.

 


	2. Overbearing

“Was I too hard on War?” 

Across he little cafe table, Jess takes a small sip of her coffee, grimacing when the steam fogs up her glasses. She clears her throat and removes them, pulling a cloth out of her handbag and wiping the lenses clean. “I-I don’t think its possible to be ‘too hard’ on a guy like  _that_ ,” she replies carefully, returning the glasses to their regular spot of her face, “And…I mean, he  _did_  nearly break Tom’s arm.” 

“Don’t remind me,” you can’t help but cringe, sagging back into the soft, red chair and blowing on your drink to cool it down, “God.. I am still so mortified about that.” 

Behind her drink, Jess coughs, but otherwise doesn’t reply right away, so you peer over the rim of your mug and raise an eyebrow at her fingers tapping rapidly against her coffee cup. Pensively, she chews on her lip, eyes flicking up to yours briefly and then darting away again. 

“Jess?” you prod gently. You know her well enough to be able to tell when something is off. 

“Well, it’s just that-” She pauses to huff out a steadying breath and clear her throat, “-Don’t you think Tom might have…,deserved it?” 

Snorting, you mumble around your mug, “I don’t think  _anyone_  deserves to be on the business end of War’s anger.” 

“ _Yeah_ ,” she agrees hesitantly, “but Tom  _was_  being a creep.” 

You hum at her point, frowning softly at the table. You don’t remember actually  _meeting_  Tom. He was just one of those people who…. _appeared_  in your life, out of the blue.   
What you do remember though, is that your parents told you he didn’t know anybody in the neighbourhood, so somehow, the task of being his one and only friend fell on  _your_  shoulders. Right from the get go, you weren’t entirely sure that you wanted to call Tom a ‘friend,’ as he seemed to be far,  _far_  more interested in you than you were in him. Still, that message your parents drove into you, ‘Be nice to Tom,’ is a hard instruction to shake loose, simply because you’ve been doing it for so long, regardless of whether or not he deserves to be treated nicely. Shaking your head to clear it of the jumble of thoughts, you shrug lamely. “That’s just how he is.” The words sound forced and fake, even to you. Deep down, a part of you is screaming that Tom is not a person you ought to be defending. “He…He’s always been like that.”

“Doesn’t make it right.” Jess places the cup down and crosses her hands underneath her chin, elbows resting on the table. “Honestly, I don’t know why you keep hanging around with him. He’s not exactly very  _likeable_.”

Surprised, you blink at her. “Wait.  _You_  don’t like him?”

“Not really,” she admits quietly, glancing around the cafe as if he’ll pop up out of a booth at any moment. “Remember when he went out with my sister?” 

Curious, you nod. 

“Well, he used to talk about you all the time - which, yeah - is a little weird but she was like,  _‘whatever, you guys are friends,_ ’ so she didn’t think much of it,  _until_ …” Shifting awkwardly, Jess leans further across the table, beckoning for you to do the same. “…he started asking her if she would ever consider having a  _threesome_.”

A slow wave of goosebumps prickle up your arms and neck. 

“Again,” Jess carries on, “Not that weird. She thought he meant, like, if she could pick a celebrity to have a threesome with, who would it be? So she says, Ryan Reynolds, duh. And then Tom - deadly serious - says he’d only  **let**  her have a threesome if it was with  _you_. Said he’d always fantasised about doing it with you instead of her.. Needless to say, she dumped him on the spot..”

Even though you’d had a sneaking suspicion of where this was going, a jolt of shock mingled with revulsion still races down into the pit of your stomach. “Oh my God!” you rasp, “Are you kidding? Poor Katie, why didn’t she  _say_  something!?” 

Jess’s lip twists into a sympathetic smile as she pushes herself back and takes up her coffee again. “She didn’t want to embarrass you.” 

“Holy shit…” 

“So… Still think he didn’t deserve to have his arm nearly crushed?” 

Letting out a low whistle, you shove your teeth into your bottom lip, thinking. After a second or two, you shake your head, your amicable nature getting the better of you. “No…No. That’s super effed up of Tom, and sure, he’s a bit leery, but he wouldn’t actually  _do_  anything, you know. War shouldn’t have been so violent.” 

Pursing her lips, Jess shrugs. “Maybe your horseman knows something we don’t.” She watches you thoughtfully for a moment, eventually adding, “You know, Jack and Bea can’t stand him either.” 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah. We only ever hung out with him because we thought  _you_  liked him.” 

“ _Seriously_?” Releasing a bark of shrill laughter that turns several of the patron’s heads, you throw your hands up in the air. “I only invite him over because I thought  _you_  guys liked him!”

Abruptly, Jess dissolves into a fit of giggles, having to set her cup down lest she spill coffee all over herself. “You mean to tell me we didn’t  _have_  to endure his godawful taste in movies and that love-struck puppy act he pulled every time he saw you!?”   
Your own laughter is not that far behind and soon enough, you’ve covered your mouth to snicker behind your hand. ‘ _God, I missed this,_ ’ you think, eyes sparkling. ‘ _Just being with people my own age who aren’t all powerful beings._ ’ 

All of a sudden, Jess’s laughter tapers off as her eyes drift up over your shoulder and she freezes. You tilt your head to the side, one eyebrow quirking when she swipes a finger under her glasses to brush away a mirthful tear. “Uh oh…” she mumbles, nodding at something behind you, “Helicopter horseman, six o’clock.”  

Hesitantly, you gulp and slowly crane your neck around to peek over the back of the booth and out through the large, glass window behind you. “Oh no, not again.” 

In the distance, a few hundred yards down the street, an enormous figure towers over the crowd, striding purposefully down the pavement and sending humans scurrying left and right, parting like waves around an impervious rock. Even from here, that familiar, red hood sticks out like a sore thumb. “Oh War,” you sigh. 

“How did he  _find_  you?” Jess squeaks, ducking down in her seat while you do the same. 

“Maybe he’s just here randomly?” you shrug, hopeful. 

A ping from your phone resting on the table signals an incoming text. Picking it up, you scan the screen for a few moments, then huff, shoulders slumping. It was a text from Jack. 

‘ _Heads up, just ran into your big friend. Asked where you were, told him you were with Jess at cafe. Sorry. Got scared. :(_ ’

Scowling, you stab your fingers over the buttons and send your one-worded reply. ‘ _Cheers. >:(’_ 

Keeping one eye on the door, Jess asks, “Who was that?” 

“Jack. War knows I’m here.” 

“Coward,” she chuckles fondly. Jack had never been as brave as the rest of you. 

Grumbling your agreement, you risk another glimpse out of the window at War. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately. Ever since Earth was restored and I moved into my own apartment, he’s been popping up everywhere!"

“Oooh, someone’s got a crush!” Jess supplies helpfully. 

In an instant, your body stiffens and you sputter indignantly. “Oh, shut _up_. No, I don’t.” 

“Oh my god,” she grins, sliding her glasses further up her nose, “I meant _he_ has a crush on _you,_ but now I’m thinking it goes both ways! Ha. Subtle, Y/n.” 

“That’s not - I don’t…” Defeated, you grasp at the air, as though you’re trying to grab the words and stuff them back down your throat. “Alright, look. War is…he’s like family. Okay? And…like family, he can be a bit-” 

“Overprotective?” she offers. 

“I was about to say overbearing, but I think we’re on the same page.” 

At that moment, a woman strolls out of the bathroom at the back of the cafe. As your gaze shifts over to the swinging door, you catch sight of the open window beyond. “You know what,” you announce suddenly, a mischievous glint in your eye that Jess recognises and dreads all at the same time, “I could use a little space. No offence to War, but I don’t need a horseman following me around, trying to rescue me from every little thing. Not anymore.” 

Taking one more look over your shoulder, you discover that he’s definitely seen the cafe, at least, for his steely gaze is now locked and he’s marching over to the door like a man on a mission. 

“Okay, he hasn’t seen us. Come on!” 

“Come on-Hey!” 

Throwing a few notes down onto the table, you vault over it to Jess and grab her arm, tugging her up and dragging her towards the bathroom. You’d just slipped through the door when you hear the sound of the door being thrown open and the bell above it jingles loudly, announcing War’s arrival and all chatter beyond ceases. 

“Up there!” you hiss, riding the exciting rush of adrenaline that can only be experienced by escaping from a giant horseman. Keeping one eye on the door, you give Jess a boost and letting her scrabble hurriedly through the open window on her belly, squeezing her legs around afterwards so that she can harmlessly drop to the ground. 

“Alright, I’m through!” she calls from outside. 

Squatting low, you brace your legs and leap up, snagging the window sill with your fingers and hoisting yourself up to it. You have to admit, you’ve gotten a lot stronger since the end of the world and though you’d never tell him, you’re momentarily grateful that Death pushed you during your combat training. 

Swiftly, you manage to pull yourself halfway through with your legs and backside still dangling down into the bathroom. Jess grins at you from the ground and you return it triumphantly. “I’ve missed causing mischief with you,” she tells you, blushing.”

“Likewise. Almost home free!” 

But just then, to your utmost dismay, as you try to heave your legs up and stuff them through the window, something cold and solid slips beneath the waistband of your trousers and clamps down tight, holding you firmly in place. 

Your head snaps up and you let out a squeak. “Oh no…” you moan, cheeks burning. Hanging onto the wall as best you can, you fight earnestly against the unshakable hand that’s gently but urgently coaxing you backwards through the open window. 

“Guess he got you, huh?” Jess winces apologetically. 

With a  final, strained heave, you give up and let your arms flop uselessly, accepting your fate. “Yup,” you groan, “I’ll see you later, Jess.” 

“Good luck,” she waves and turns to trot down the alley and out of sight, kicking a can as she goes.

War grunts and gives your trouser hem one last tug, pulling you free of the window and settling you down on the ground before he withdraws his hand. 

He waits for you to turn around and look up at him. When you do, you notice that the mark on his forehead is glowing brilliantly and his snowy, white brow dips so low over his eyes, they’re barely visible at all. However, his voice is low and surprisingly calm when he rumbles, “Why did you run?”

Honestly, you only just manage to stop yourself from pulling your hair out. “Why did I run?” you echo, gesturing at him and then back to you, “Because, War, this has  _got_  to stop!” 

His huge, hooded head twists to the side. “What has?” 

Throwing your hands into the air, you let out a croaking laugh. “You!  _You_  need to stop this - this jealous behaviour!” To your astonishment, he even has the nerve to look affronted at the suggestion that he’s being jealous. Fingers raking through your hair, you try using your free hand to discreetly rearrange the trousers that were unfortunately crumpled under his tight grip. “War, the apocalypse is over,” you try to explain, “You don’t  _need_  to keep me alive like you did before.”

Hunched over in the cramped ladies room of a kitschy cafe, War looks far smaller than he ever had before. Stretching his lips into a thin line, he struggles to place his feelings to the correct words. “You were…I said I’d…” 

Admittedly, it’s odd to see the usually impregnable horseman falter. In the end, War’s mighty head dips lower and he bares his fangs, more in frustration that the words he wants to say are proving so elusive. Ungluing his tongue from the roof of his mouth, he shifts his feet heavily, accidentally bumping his head on one of the hanging light fixtures. Growling up at it, the horseman rubs at the back of his head before sighing and slumping a hand over his hip. “I told you…that I would keep you safe,” he finishes stubbornly, glaring down hard at the toes of his boots.

Clicking your tongue softly, you rest your hands on your hips. “Well, you don’t have to do that anymore. I’m not gonna  _die_  in a cafe, for goodness sake.” 

The horseman’s resolve keeps his face from falling dejectedly. 

“War, you’re…you’re my bes-” Catching the admission, you quietly correct yourself, “you’re my  _friend._  But if you’re going to keep me from being with my  _other_  friends…” You lapse into silence, choosing your words carefully. After a while, you peer down at your wringing hands, brows stitching together into a pleading expression. “I haven’t seen them - Jack, Bea and Jess - for a long, long time. I’m just asking for a few days of space for us to catch up. A few days without you kicking down my door and trying to break someone’s arm just because they touched me.” 

He pulls his head back at that, the very picture of disapproval. Tom had wanted to do far more than just touch you, how could you not see that?   
Too proud to admit that he may have gone father than was necessary, War remains silent. He lowers his head and nudges you with his metal forefinger, drawing your eyes back up to meet his.   
A shudder rolls over you as it does every time he looks at you so sombrely. “You want me to leave you?” he asks, expertly covering the wounded lilt in his tone. 

“Not forever,” you hasten to reassure him, “Just a few days now. A-and if, in the future, you come by the house and hear people talking inside, maybe just  _knock_  first? And maybe don’t act like you want to murder everybody I hang out with.” Sucking in a lungful of air, you give him what you hope is a commanding frown. “Promise me you’ll give me three days, War.” 

He doesn’t move. 

“ _Promise_  me!….Please?”

Though he looks less than pleased with such an arrangement, War hesitates before bowing his head. “Very well,” he relents gruffly. 

You offer him a tiny smile, “Thank you. Now, let’s get out of the ladies’ room before anyone sees us.” 

The enormous horseman grunts, swinging his heavy bulk around and following you to the bathroom door. As you pull it open to pass through, you can’t help but glance up and notice the fresh scratch marks in the paint, just like the ones littering your own doorframe. Your heart aches a little for  _his_  sake. Because no matter how hard he tries, War will always be just too big for this world. 

Exiting the cafe is just as awkward as you imagined it would be. Several of the poor waiters tremble terrible, dishes and mugs clattering noisily as they continue trying to do their jobs around whilst pretending not to notice the mountainous nephilim plodding through the room after a perfectly ordinary-seeming human. 

Once outside - and after witnessing the cafe door lose its valiant fight against War’s shoulder pauldron - you turn to face him and flex your fists nervously. “So…I guess I’ll see you in a few days?” 

The horseman’s teeth grit so suddenly, he’s sure you must have spotted the speed at which he clenched his jaw. Taking a deep breath in through his nose, he offers you one last, stiff nod, hating that you’d made him promise something that grapples with every fibre of his being. 

He keeps his expression as hard as stone when you wave goodbye and begin to wander down the street towards your home,  _away_  from him. But as you recede farther and farther into the distance, the horseman’s face softens. 

Three days. 

He can do this....


	3. Blue eyes see Red.

You trusted War to keep his word.

The horseman may be a great many things, but he is  _not_  a promise-breaker. Sure enough, the next day passed without any War-related incidents, much to the relief of your friends. Conveniently ’ _forgetting_ ’ to invite Tom, you’d spent the whole day at the city park with Jack, Jess and Bea.   
Well, it’s less of a park and more of an overgrown jungle.  
A whole century had given the local foliage room to thrive and flourish, spreading across the city like a great tidal wave of green.

You and your friends frittered away the hours simply talking. They grilled you on the full, insider’s scoop of what went down after you were miraculously pulled off the dying Earth and dropped unceremoniously into the hands of a horseman of the apocalypse. 

But, even by the end of your tale, they still carried a fair bit of apprehension in regards to War. They took care to remind you that – although he might not have been responsible for  _this_  apocalypse, he and his siblings  _will_  ride again, only next time, there’d be no mistake. Maybe not in this lifetime, maybe not even in the next – but someday, the real apocalypse will happen and the horseman will be on the front lines.

Their point bothered you, mainly because of its plausibility, but rather than let a debate break out, you merely dodged the issue, instead asking them things like, where they were when they woke up. If they’d found the rest of their families. If they planned to stay in the city or find somewhere more secluded, out in the country like  _you’d_  been hoping to.

There seemed to be a unanimous agreement that being surrounded by the same tall buildings and narrow, claustrophobic streets that had served as Earth’s massive necropolis after the End-War, is unsettling.

By the time evening rolls around, you’re all spent - emotionally and verbally exhausted by the long catch up. So, with a tired but contented mind, you bid the three of them goodbye, exchanging tight hugs and waving them off on their respective ways.

“You’re not heading off too?” Jack asks, eyes darting over to dark shadows that creep along the ground, pushed by dying sunlight.

Leaning back against the sturdy trunk of a monumentally old oak, you fold your arms behind your head and offer him a lazy shrug. “Nah, think I’ll stay here for a bit. Enjoy the peace and quiet.”

Jack’s face twists, eyeing you up and down as he slowly retreats towards the safety of the busy street that lays beyond the dense copse of trees. “Oookay,” he says, uncertain, “suit yourself. This place is spooky in the dark.”

“Ha, I’ve seen spookier,” you chortle, tapering off into silence as a dozen horrifying images flash across your mind’s eye and your face quickly shifts, the jovial glimmer in your eyes giving way to something haunted and weary.

“Yeah,” Jack murmurs to himself, frowning when you drop the hand that you’d been waving at him and turn your head to face forward, as though you’re staring straight at something that he just can’t  see, “I reckon you have.”

Giving one last, suspicious look at the darkening spaces between the trees, Jack breaks into a brisk trot, bounding after Jess and Bea down the crumbling, concrete pathway that leads out of the park.

With the others gone and the soft moaning of wind slipping in and out of the tree trunks all around you, your eyes flutter closed and you let out a long, slow exhale, sagging further into the oak’s wood.   
For what must be the better part of an hour, you just sit, breathing in the smell of earth and pressing your fingertips into the soil below you. Every now and then, a bird flits through the clearing, chirping away without a care in the world. Every time you hear a new birdsong, it does wonders at warming your heart. Each song heralds indisputable proof that the wildlife is slowly but surely returning. 

Where once the skies had been filled with nothing but crows, ravens and the occasional magpie – or any corvid that arrived to pick the flesh off the bones of the dead – now you’ve begun to see other birds, small and quick. Sparrows, finches, a dove or two, swallows and starlings.

A smile finds its way onto your face when a robin, breast as orange as the sunset overhead, lands on a branch in the tree opposite. The tiny bird chirps down at you and cocks his head to the side, probably trying to remember the last time he’d seen one of the giant, featherless birds visit his park.

For a time, you watch each other until the robin suddenly stops cheeping, its head twitching sideways and then it darts off the branch, fast as a bullet, disappearing into the thicket with a shrill cheep thrown over its shoulder by way of warning.

 _War_  had been the one to teach you how to use the environment to your advantage and this feels a lot like one of those exact times when the environment is trying to tell you something.

You snap your head in the opposite direction of where the robin had retreated, alert and straining to hear anything above the rustling of leaves and creaking branches.

Seconds pass, and nothing happens. But then…

 _There_!

Movement, in the shadows! A figure sidesteps behind a tree.

For a moment, you’re half convinced its War in the process of breaking his promise and you’re just about to call him out when, unexpectedly, the figure steps out into the open.

It’s…. 

“Tom?”

“Hey,” he waves sheepishly, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you…Well, I  _did_. I was gonna try and make you jump.”

Shadows from tree branches zig zag across his pale face, casting him in an eerie, dappled light. Speaking of casts…you notice that his left forearm is bundled up in ivory bandages and he’s holding it close to his chest. You wince, recalling the sound his bones made when they ground together under War’s vice-like grip.

“It’ll take more than that to scare me,” you say as he saunters casually over towards you. It’s true, the things you’d gone through had forced you to redefine the whole concept of what fear really is. And ‘fear’ is  _not_  your neighbour with inappropriate mannerisms sneaking up on you in a city park…Maybe once, but not anymore.

Yet still….

“What – uh. What are you doing here?” you ask, wary of the way he stops just shy of a few feet of you, staring down with a broad smile and shifty eyes.

“Just…ah..going for a wander,” he shrugs.

’ _Bullshit_ ,’ a voice – probably Strife’s – hisses in your mind and you can’t help but agree. Tom’s eyes  keep flicking left and right, searching. It occurs to you, after a while, that he must be looking for War. Dismissively, you give him a hum and move your hands to cross them over your chest.

“So, where’s your guard dog?” Tom laughs, low and anxious, grin faltering just a little as he checks behind himself.

Your jaw twitches at the insult.  _Now_  you’re wary. “He’s around somewhere,” you vaguely reply. But Tom must have heard the warble in your voice and seen the way you avoid his gaze to stare at a point near his left shoulder. You don’t notice it, but a smug smile flashes briefly over his lips. “Is that right?” he murmurs.

Nodding, you pretend to relax back against the trunk and radiate an air of indifference, praying that he’ll pick up on your aloof mood and leave you alone. No such luck.

“Sooo, I saw the others leaving the park and noticed you weren’t with them. Then I thought I’d come find you,” he mentions.

’ _Ah. So he wasn’t just ’_ out for a wander _.’ Liar._ ’

“You guys have a good chat? Would have been nice if I’d been invited.”

Swallowing hard, you scrounge around for a response. “O-oh. Sorry. It was sort of a last minute thing. I guess we just…forgot to text you.”

“Ouch!” he chuckles, winking at you, “I’m not  _that_  forgettable, am I?”

“Well… I – uh-”

He cuts you off with a loud bark of laughter and waves his hand around in the air. “I’m messing with you, Y/n. Chill. It’s fine. Actually, I’ve been meaning to catch you alone for some time. Wanted to talk to you.”

You don’t like the way he said ’ _catch_.’ The alarm bells that had so far been faintly chiming in the very back of your mind suddenly blare to life and your heart starts to throw itself recklessly against your ribcage. “Oh yeah? About what?” you try to casually respond. Maybe you’re being paranoid, but as Death has often reminded you, paranoia can be a lifesaving tool. And there’s no denying that Tom is acting shady…Shadier.  

In a flash, he drops to his knees in front of you, excited trepidation dancing in his olive-green eyes. “We haven’t had the chance to sit down – just you and me – and talk about…well,  _us_! It’s something I’ve always regretted not doing before the apocalypse, but I could never seem to get you on your own for long enough!” He’s babbling, shuffling forwards until he’s all but caged you against the tree trunk. “And – and then, we came back! You brought us back!”

“Well, technically, I was just along for the ride,” you correct, “The horsemen did all the wo-”

“ _You_  are a bonafide hero!” he cuts you off with an insistent shout, “a -and when I saw you again and you helped me up out of that rubble, I realised something.” He trails off, biting his lip and dropping his eyes to roll over your body. Your lip curls upon noticing that he lingers just a little  _too_  long on your chest and naval.

“Tom,” you warn, voice low and laced with animosity.

Reluctantly, he drags his gaze back up to meet yours and gives his lips a quick lick. “I realised that I’d been given a second chance. A chance I missed before.” He sucks in a deep breath, rubbing his hands over his knees. “Y/n, I like you, okay? Like… _really_  like you. You’re just this….incredible person who’s beautiful and brave and funny and I just had to say something before  _someone_   _else_  did.”

 _'Someone else_?’ Your breathing hitches. ’ _Who on Earth is he talking about?_ ’

Tom leans in close, hands almost trembling when he takes up one of yours and squeezes it tightly. “Don’t you think we should be together? I mean, we’ve finally got a shot!”

“Tom-” you try to interject but he talks over you.

“We’ve known each other  _forever_. I know this is a bit out of the blue, but you have to admit, we have  _chemistry_.”

“God, Tom! No, we really don’t! I-” You roughly exhale, dragging the fingers of your free hand through your hair, exasperated, desperately trying to come up with a way out of this situation. You always knew he had something of a crush, some one-sided pining. But at the time, it was easier to ignore it than to try and convince him that you didn’t feel the same. You’d tried once before, when you were little – only about twelve and he’d been thirteen. It didn’t deter him then in the slightest. If anything, your refusal to welcome his affections made him all the more persistent.

One thing you made sure of was to never give him any indication that you reciprocated. In fact, you’d made absolutely  _clear_.   
….Or so you thought.

After what Jess told you in the cafe, maybe you’d severely underestimated just how deeply rooted Tom’s feeling are. Your mother always said you were oblivious.

Inhaling deeply, you give your hand a hesitant tug, wanting to scream when he only clamps his fingers around it tighter. In as calm a voice as possible, you force your eyes to make contact with his and say firmly, “Tom,  _no_. This needs to stop. I want to make it clear right here and right now, that I don’t like you the same way you like me, okay? Now, please let me go.” With that, you pull against his grip again. He doesn’t move. “Tom, I said get  _off_.” A little more urgently, you try to stand up but yelp when his other hand suddenly flies out to grasp your shoulder and he shoves you back down, his grin wavering and bordering on manic.   
“Don’t. Uh…Don’t tell me no straight away,” he beams, huffing out a cold chuckle, “You don’t even know what you’re saying no to.”

As you feared it would, the situation has quickly gotten out of hand in the blink of an eye and you curse yourself for becoming complacent and neglecting to bring your trusty pocket knife to the park with you when you left home today. Death would have a fit if he knew.

Still….you’re not entirely defenceless.

“Tom, if you don’t get off me right now, I’m gonna break your nose,” you seethe, “This doesn’t need to go any further. Just walk away now and we’ll go our separate ways.”

Unfortunately, rather than be placated, he seems to take objection. His grin twisting into something sinister, Tom hisses through clenched teeth, “No.”

’ _Fine_ ,’ you think.   
With a speed that would make Fury proud, you thrust your free hand up at his face, aiming the heel of your palm at his nose. Startled, Tom barely manages to tilt his head up at the last second so that your palm collides with his chin instead. But it’s still a devastating blow.   
His jaw clacks together and he cries out, groping the air with his hand until he catches your wrist as you aim a second strike. “Son of a bitch,” he growls, “Stop hitting me!”

“Then get. Off.  _Me_!” you retort, fighting furiously to free yourself. You’re stronger than he is, hands inching closer and closer to his face, fingers poised to jab his eyes, pull his hair, scratch, claw – anything to loosen his grip - and he recognises that. Before you can overpower him, he draws his head back and then suddenly pitches it forwards.

HIs skull smashes into yours with a sickening crunch.   
Searing pain explodes across the front of your face and almost instantly, a torrent of hot blood spurts out of your nose and spatters all over Tom.

Dizziness crashes like a wave over your consciousness and you moan, dazed and swaying stupidly.

“Oh shit!” I’m sorry!” Tom blurts out, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” His apologies become muffled as he presses his mouth over your parted lips and he takes advantage of your momentary stun to push his tongue across yours, stroking it gently as though one soft act could make up for the hurt he’d caused you so far whilst his thumbs rub soothing circles into your wrists. 

Despite the hideous throbbing in your nose, you quickly shake off the stupor when you realise what Tom’s doing. Releasing an enraged grunt, you wrench your head away from him to break the kiss and spit his taste from your mouth with as much vehemence as you can muster.

His brows pinch together, hurt. Though that expression rapidly hardens and he shouts something incoherent, throwing you onto the ground face-first. You’re given no time to recover, for he’s sitting on your thighs in milliseconds, wrestling your arms behind your back and holding onto your wrists with one hand whilst fumbling frantically at his belt buckle.

As soon as you hear the jangle of his belt, you throw yourself upwards, trying to buck him off. “Oh, don’t you  _dare_. Don’t you  _fucking_  dare!”

Your incessant writhing brings you tantalisingly close to unbalancing him so he drops the belt and instead wraps his fingers in your hair, pulling your head back and then slamming it once –  **THUD**! Twice –  **THUD**! - into the ground.   
Although the earth is relatively soft thanks to a previous night’s rainfall, the blows are still hard enough to stun you again. Letting your head fall limp, you wheeze, squashing both eyes shut, a meagre defence against the world that’s spinning around your mind.

Satisfied that you’re temporarily out of commission, Tom grabs up his belt again and winds it around and around your wrists, pulling the leather taut once its in place. “There,” he mutters, patting you on the shoulder, “Sorry about that. But you’re really being  _so_  difficult.”

“Guh,” you slur, blowing a spray of blood off your top lip, “you wn’t…get..away with…thss…”

In response, Tom only hums and wets his lip. Hastily, he rolls you onto your back and your head lolls to the side, eyes slowly trying to crack themselves open in spite of your splitting headache. With your knuckles digging uncomfortably into your back, you grimace and begin digging your heels into the dirt, but his hands slide around your calves and dig into the supple flesh, dragging you back towards him. “Look around, Y/n,” he breathes shakily, fingers coming up to toy with the waistband of your jogging bottoms, “In case you hadn’t noticed, everyone’s a bit busy rebuilding from an  **apocalypse**. Who’s gonna pay attention to one little girl who cries wolf, huh?”

“ _ **HELP**_!” you scream sharply and suddenly.

Panic surges across his face and he dives forwards in a rush, slapping a hand over your mouth. “Shh! Shh! No, please!” he begs, “just let me show you what you’d be missing! If you don’t like it, fair enough. At least I tried.” He keeps the hand cupped slightly, effectively muffling your screams but rendering the soft flesh of his palm safely out the way of your snapping teeth. ’ _You’ve worked yourself up into such a state,_ ’ he tuts. He’s positive you’d bite him if you could reach.

The tears that had been threatening to spill since he head-butted you finally escape from your eyelids and tumble down your face. The degradation, the ignominy of the whole thing…You went through Hell on Earth, fought tooth and nail to help War clear his name. You’ve been shot at, stabbed, half-drowned, stepped on, kidnapped by demons and almost became giant spider chow – but you’d survived. So how could this –  _this –_ how could it happen?

’ _War_ ,’ you realise miserably, the weight of your helplessness settling heavy over your chest, ’ _Every time, War was there to save me.’_

A deeper, darker voice responds to the first .’ _But_ _ **he’s**_ _not here anymore. You sent him away. He was trying to protect you, and_ _ **you**_ _sent him away_.’

Jess’s words echo in your ear. ’ _Maybe your horseman knows something we don’t_.’

—————————————————————–

Somewhere far across the city, in one of the more dilapidated neighbourhoods that had yet to be touched by the restorative efforts of the humans, War and his aptly named steed – Ruin – mosey along aimlessly down the near-empty street.

The horse’s molten hooves tromp steadily on the tarmac, echoing between the rundown houses where – every now and then – a face appears briefly at a broken window to watch them pass by, only to duck back out of sight a moment later, wary humans watching the horseman’s approach.

He pays them no mind. His thoughts are elsewhere. Even Ruin picks up on his rider’s pensive move for he occasionally tosses his smoky mane and whickers softly, a low, rumbling sound that seems more aggressive than comforting to the untrained ear. War however, knows better and each time, he leans down to give his mount’s neck a few good, solid pats.

“You ought to stop fretting, unless you want to turn into my brother,” he teases fondly, earning himself an offended squeal. The horseman chuckles, apologises and turns his head back to the road. Ruin’s concerns are not unfounded though, and War knows more than to think his roiling emotions can be kept hidden from his stubborn horse. “You’re right,” he concedes after the fifth insistent snort, “as usual.”

Ruin lifts his head proudly and raises his legs a little higher, breaking into a smug trot.

“I am…. _hn_. Troubled,” War manages to grind out, struggling to come to terms with his own feelings, “I’ve made a mess of things.” It occurs to him that his horse may be the only creature in the universe that he can speak so freely with. In fact, he’d wager the horse’s collective knowledge of his rider could get War killed,  _if_  Ruin could speak to tell anyone.

Frustrated at himself, his mouth twists in a deep growl. “I thought I was doing the right thing. She likes it when I keep my promises. But she won’t let me keep  _this_  one. The one I made in the Ash Lands…”

———

_The Horseman follows the sound of your cries through the demon-infested cave system, heavy boots pounding into the ash underfoot and leaving shallow imprints with the force of his frenzied sprint._

_He found you strung up in a rusty cage, livid bruises scattered all over your arms and colouring one of your eyelids an ugly indigo. No demon in that chamber had a hope in Hell’s chance of escaping with their lives. War dispatched them as easily as he’d squash a bug under his boot._

_When he lowered the cage and tore the gate off its hinges, he hadn’t expected you to come barrelling out of your temporary prison and throw yourself up to him, arms sliding beneath his hood and around his thick neck, latching on tighter than a limpet clings to a rock._

“ _Never again,” he remembers murmuring into your tangled hair as you trembled against him, “This will not happen again.” He’d dropped to a knee then so your feet could touch the ground, his fingers hovering uncertainly before he at last dared to place his large palm across your back and pressed you closer into his sturdy chest._

“ _You came for me?” you whimpered, voice small and muffled by his red cloak._

“ _Of course,” he firmly replied, “I wouldn’t let them have you. I’ll not allow you to be harmed, not after everything you’ve-…Everything we’ve been through.”_

_The feel of your tiny fingers curling into his wispy, white hair pulled a possessive growl out of his throat._

“ _Promise?”_

_War blinked. It was an innocent enough request but you weren’t to know just how strictly this horseman treats his promises. And this one was far more vital than the others he’d made because this time, the stakes were irrevocably high. You’d become more important to him than he’d anticipated._

_The horseman can still recall the swell of unyielding warmth that bloomed deep in his chest when you buried your face in his neck._

“ _I promise.”_

———–

A shrill whinny breaks him out of his quiet contemplation. War gives a start, head darting to and fro. “What?” he blurts out clumsily, embarrassed that he’d been caught reminiscing. But Ruin doesn’t appear to be paying his rider much attention. The horse has jerked to a lumbering halt, ears pricked forwards sharply with his huge, black head turned to the west.

“Demons?” War tries, though as soon as the suggestion leaves his lips, he knows that isn’t it. Had it been demons or any being that brought with it the promise of a fight, Ruin would be chomping furiously at the bit, his powerful flanks would be quivering and his hooves would paw aggressively at the dirt.

No, Ruin is too still and too quiet for it to be demons. This is something else.

“What is it?” the horseman snaps, fuelled by his mount’s unspoken urgency. But before he can say another word, Ruin’s ears suddenly flatten against his skull and he leans back onto his haunches, poised to hurtle into a hectic gallop, jaw stretched wide around an almighty, bellowing scream.

War, knowing the horse well enough to tell that something is beyond wrong, loosens his grip on the thick reins and allows him his head. “Go on then!”

Ruin doesn’t need telling twice.

Powerful hind legs kick off from the ground, launching both horse and rider down the decrepit street.

Down allies, over, around and even  _through_  walls, they ride – Ruin’s ears flicking back and forth like a metronome, listening.

Gradually, the streets become more populated and War’s glad that he’s so hard to miss because had the horse been light on his feet and quiet as a ghost, like Despair, he doubts any of the humans would have heard him coming  _and_  be able to get out of the way in time.

On and on they fly at breakneck speed, Ruin’s nostrils flaring madly until he turns down a road that War immediately recognises. It’s one he’s walked often enough, after all.

His stomach plummets as he realises that just three blocks down, they’ll come right upon the bottom floor of your apartment building.

His promise to you surges to the forefront of his mind and he gives the reins a sharp tug. “Ruin, stop!”

To his surprise, the horse grunts at the resistance and yanks his head down, effectively pulling the reins out of War’s strong grasp. Sweeping them up again, he shouts, “Three days!” trying to reason with the steed, albeit half-heartedly, “I promised to give her three days to herself. It’s barely been one!”

Ruin – for his part – couldn’t really care less about the passage of time. He leaps effortlessly over a parked car, rattling the metal machine in it’s frame as he passes over it and finally, the familiar red-bricked building looms into view. War’s gut twists, half expecting his horse to just crash right through the glass door and climb the stairs to get up to you.  

However, his apprehension is swiftly replaced by confusion as Ruin thunders straight past your apartment.

The horseman actually twists in his saddle to look back at your home, now fading rapidly into the distance. 'So, you aren’t there..’ War’s fists clench around the reins. He supposes he shouldn’t be shock that you aren’t. Although – besides being with him – that building is the safest place for you to be.

He often wonders what you’d do if you ever found out about all the protective wards that Azrael had  painstakingly thrown up around your flat, not to mention the array of magical traps Death has set to respond to any demon activity in the vicinity.

War snorts. And you think  **he’s**  overbearing.

All of a sudden, Ruin takes a sharp right and skids around a corner, hooves clattering noisily on the concrete as he scrabbles for purchase. Once he finds it again, he bolts towards a high, metal fence that surrounds a mass of twisting trees and thick, verdant bushes. In one, tremendous bound, the steed clears the obstacle and lands in the grass on the other side with a ground-shaking thud.

War takes a moment to absorb his surroundings.

Trees taller and far more dense that Earth’s usual variety raise high over his head, their branches spiralling together into a canopy of leaves that almost completely blocks out the sun, engulfing the forest floor in dark, creeping shadows.

Whickering, Ruin paces to and fro in front of a line of copper beech trees, too tightly wound to give the colossal war horse room to manoeuvre. “Easy,” War soothes the huffing beast, stroking his shoulder as he slides out of the saddle and clangs heavily onto the ground. He follows Ruin’s unblinking stare through the tall trunks and takes a deep breath, stepping into the darkness and squeezing his hefty bulk through the first of the trees. Tossing a mental call backward, he banishes his mount in a blazing explosion of fire and smoke, then continues on, mind focused on nothing but you. .

If he were being honest with himself as he stalks through the wooded park, War would say that Ruin’s sudden, inexplicable behaviour had shaken him up some. The horse had only ever acted so strangely on a few other occasions but nowhere near to this intensity. And that was when you were in some kind of trouble.

The horseman’s brow knits together tightly over his forehead and he picks up the pace.

It doesn’t take long before he starts to hear something above the crunching of leaves underfoot and the creaking limbs over his head. Although he can’t actually see what’s causing the noise, he knows the sound of a struggle when he hears it.

With the embers of a slowly building rage churning dangerously in his belly, War follows the muted grunts, teeth set and hackles well and truly raised until he strides around the trunk of an enormous oak….

….and stops dead in his tracks.

Every single, atmospheric sound seems to suck out of the air around him. Yet your small whimpers – stifled as they are behind a sweaty hand – crawl into his ear and roar violently in his head like an ocean swell.

He sees the bruise that’s formed between your eyes and the blood coating your nose and chin. He smells it - can  _taste_  it’s coppery tang riding on the air.

But below that, lurking underneath your captivating redolence, is a…a musk - stinking and ugly. It emanates from the other human leaning over you with one hand on your mouth and the fingers of his other….

….the fingers of his other have just slipped beneath the hem of your trousers. 

War’s mind gives a particularly violent judder.

Like the roaring roll of thunder, he lets out a growl, a great and terrible rage filling him up until his skin appears to simmer. Sparks of white-hot fire burst and crackle along his teeth and down his arms and at the apex of a furious inhale – War begins to  _grow_.

The telltale popping of limbs being stretched and distorted draws your attention to the side, away from Tom’s face, your eyes lighting upon a figure engulfed in flames. In an instant, your heart slumps with relief and you whisper from behind the hand. “ _War_!”

Tom’s head snaps up, following your gaze and he releases an undignified shriek when he sees the towering inferno with flames that spin and twist in a maelstrom of smoke and brimstone. Then comes the deafening roar.

You’ve become so used to that terrifying, unremitting sound – and  _now_ , it’s like music to your ears. Tom, however, is  _not_  so accustomed. He shouts, a pitiable sound in comparison, and removes his hands from your mouth and trousers to cover his head, face scrunched up in a poor attempt to stop himself from going deaf.

The flames that had climbed and swelled into the treetops suddenly ripple outwards, hotter and stronger than a furnace, a wave of heat crashes over you in their wake and when you can open your eyes again, you can see War’s huge, clawed talons pressing hard into the dirt just a few yards away. He’d succumbed to the beast that lurks just below the surface of his skin. His ’ _Chaos Form_ ’, he called it. A monstrous creature with a body of red, molten-rock and rivulets of lava flowing like veins all over him.

As soon as Chaos’s craggy jaw slams shut, cutting off his deafening roar, Tom removes his hands from his ears, jaw falling open. “What the f-!”

Without giving Tom the time to recover from the distraction, you heave your body onto its side with all your might, sending him toppling backwards due to the unexpectedness of the motion. Flailing about as he falls, his hand catches a fistful of your hair and yanks your head back, pulling a choked scream of pain from your lips.

War’s liquid golden eyes blaze and he surges forwards, stepping right over your ducked head and snatching up a screaming Tom from the ground in one, massive hand.  Staring up into those twin pools of hatred and anger, he freezes, unable to look away.

War sniffs once. Then his teeth – each one about as long as a human arm – part to show the shivering man his doom and a deep rumble travels along his tongue and out through his mouth, so resonant, it shakes the leaves from their tree branches. Tom’s breath catches in his throat as he peers down into that terrible maw, flinching every time a fleck of boiling-hot spittle flies out to land on his face.

The beast’s claws tense with the barest of effort, squeezing the human’s ribs together until they grind and splinter, much like his wrist had a few days ago. Through the haze of carnage, War feels a glimmer of satisfaction at the noise.

Presently, the beast’s tail drags over the ground and subsequently brushes across your back, causing you to cry out when its scales catch roughly on your already sore wrists. War’s pointed ears flick up in response to hearing your tiny outburst. The snarl on his lips dies as he swivels his head down to seek out the source of the noise and he spots you, laying on your stomach with your hands still tied up in the belt and held painfully against the small of your back. War’s fist clenches of its own accord and he’s dimly aware of the body in his grasp seizing and then instantly going limp, though he pays it little mind now that his attention has been diverted. Huffing out a hot breath, he slings the  body away, allowing it to fall in an inelegant heap onto the soft grass as he swings himself around and drops onto his forelegs, one enormous hand on either side of the little human below him.

Spent and aching from being forced into such an uncomfortable position, you keep your forehead pressed to the ground as you try catching your breath, sucking in lungfuls of air and fighting to stop the tears that relentlessly stream down your cheeks and soak into the earth.

A rush of air escapes you again in a little gasp when War abruptly pushes his nose into the space between your shoulder blades and takes a long, slow sniff. His breath is hot but not enough to burn.

It astonishes you to find that he’s mouthing clumsily at the belt on your hands, teeth too large to get underneath it and he’s being so gentle, as though he’s afraid that one wrong move will tear your arm off. Eventually, he manages to catch the leather between his fangs and carefully bites down, effectively severing the belt and letting your arms drop to your sides. With a moan, you pull your hands up in front of your face and look at them, grimacing at the rings of red that mark your skin. Aware that War still hasn’t moved, you place your hands on the ground and try to push yourself off your stomach, but a low, pulsating rumble that sets your teeth clacking in your skull warns you that he isn’t keen on letting you go just yet.

“War,” you mumble, struggling to turn yourself over, “Let me up…”

You can feel the muscles of his nose twitching with every sniff, his nostrils flaring open and then closed again, breathing you in.

In this form, the scent of your blood is increased tenfold. Under normal circumstances, its stench wouldn’t bother the violent horseman at all. But this is  _your_  blood, spilling out of your insides - where it’s  ** _supposed_**  to be - and staining your skin red. He wants it  _gone_.

Reluctantly, War pulls away a few feet to allow you the room to flip yourself onto your back and gaze up at him. “Hey, big guy,” your watery smile wavers a little.

He whines, clearly agitated, before suddenly leaning close to your face, opening his jaw and, ever so gently, dragging his tongue from your chin up to the top of your nose where the bruise is forming nicely.

“ _Mmf_!!” you protest, scrunching up your nose and trying to push his huge head away only to have him push back and lick a broad swathe over both your hands  _and_  your face, the acrid smell of sulphur on his tongue filling your nostrils. Spluttering, you attempt to shimmy backwards but a large claw is set down right behind you, preventing you from retreating further as that incessant tongue chases after your bloodied nose.   
Gentle little licks slowly coax open your balled fists until you hesitantly move them away from your face, giving him room to nuzzle the tip into the curve of your chin, where half-dried blood has gathered. He growls stubbornly, and you know you’ve little choice but to timidly relent and allow the mighty behemoth to clean your face of your own blood and tears, a task you remind him you’d be  _happy_  to do once you get home, but apparently, this is something he’s hellbent on doing himself.

From the corner of your eye, between the tender swipes of a prickly tongue, you spot Tom’s mangled body. You don’t even need to see it up close to know that it’s less of a body and more of a corpse. 

“Fuck, War,” you groan, placing your hand on one of the jagged horns that juts from his chin and giving it a steady shove, “What did you do?” 

At last, the giant horseman draws his head back and cocks it to one side, ears pricked forward as he licks his fangs clean and chuffs hotly, as if to say, “I _sn’t it obvious?_ ”  

Heaving out a sigh, you tear your eyes off Tom and rest your head in your hands. “We’ll just have to say a demon got him,” you mutter, mostly to yourself although War clacks his teeth together approvingly anyway. 

When you try to stand, he utters a few noises of protest but you’re quick to soothe him by reaching up and scratching your nails against the bridge of his nose and you don’t miss the way his white pupils are fixated on the leather burn encircling your wrists. War’s chest expands and he snorts out another angry puff of hot air, blowing it over your face. However, you hastily wriggle your other hand between the horns on his chin and stroke at the softer flesh of his neck. “Hey, hey, stop it. It’s alright.  _I’m_  alright. You got me in time. He didn’t-” You swallow thickly. “- he didn’t touch me.” 

He gazes at you through heavy lids, a contented sigh hissing out between his gleaming fangs. But he still seems hesitant, so you move your hands to rest over his cheekbones and pull his face down to make him look you in the eye. “I promise.”

Gradually, slower than you’d like though, War’s wilful chaos form begins to cool, and as it does, it shrinks, losing its height and bulk until the fire that crackles along its skin die out, replaced by dull, grey metal and a familiar, crimson hood. All the while, you keep your hands held against his cheeks.  

Once he’s back to his regular old self, you tentatively brush your thumbs under his eyes and swallow around a lump in your throat. “War?” 

All of a sudden, his eyes snap open and his tremor gauntlet flies out to cover your back as a makeshift shield, his eyes wild and hectic, jerking in every direction until they land on the body of your ‘friend’ Tom. 

War’s lips lift unkindly. 

“Hey, down here.”

He blinks several times and slides his gaze downwards to find you staring up at him, cupping his cheeks in your small palms and frowning softly. “You okay?” you ask, like  _he’s_  the one you should be worried about. 

In response, War bends down to sweep you up into his arms, eliciting a hiss of pain as your head is jostled, still tender from being roughly beaten into the ground.. 

“I’m sorry,” he grits his teeth and gives you a slow, once-over. “Did he?…” The horseman lets the unspoken question fall into silence, holding his breath. He releases it when you shake your head, ‘ _No_.’ 

“He just roughed me up a bit,” you reassure him, “I mean, he  _was_  going to do more but…” 

“But  _ **I**_ arrived,” War finishes sternly. For a moment, you can see the fire has reignited behind his eyes, filled with hatred for the human that hurt you. 

Your head dips in a nod and you stretch your hand up to clasp one of his enormous, metal fingers that’s curled around your side. “Yeah…You did.  _Thank_  you, War. But - how did you know I was…?” 

“Ruin,” he explains, suppressing a shudder when he adds, “If it weren’t for him, I’d…I wouldn’t have…” A frustrated snap of his teeth tells you all you need to know. 

“War, it’s okay. You got here in time. Remind me to thank Ruin next time I see him.” He nods, prompting you to continue, “Alright. Now, can you put me down so we can go home?”

‘ _We_.’ His eyes widen minutely. ‘ _You said we_.’

Gazing down at you, War’s expression loses some of its edge and before you know what’s happening, he’s bending down - mindful of the blossoming bruise of your nose - and urgently shoving his forehead into yours, displaying a most un-War-like amount of affection. This sort of behaviour is more prevalent of his chaos form. 

“Do me a favour,” he huffs, gritting his teeth at the fresh trickle of blood that’s started oozing from your nose once more, “ _ **Never**_  ask me to leave your side again.”


End file.
